Four Bridesmaids and a White Wedding: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year!

by Fiona Collins

  Yes, that was JoJo, thought Rose. Married to her work and so eternally unruffled. She always had been. Even in university halls, where they first met, JoJo’s bed was always immaculately made, her room spic and span, her shoes – always heels; she wore them at university, when no one else did – lined up neatly against the wall. It would be nice if a man could come along and unruffle JoJo, Rose thought, but she couldn’t see it happening.

  ‘Speaking of which,’ said Wendy, draining the very last of her miniature. ‘How are my last-minute alterations coming along?’

  JoJo had made Wendy’s wedding dress, to Wendy’s very precise specifications: a simple, silk, empire line dress with lace, capped sleeves. No loud, blingy embellishments, none of what Wendy called ‘unnecessary frou-frou’.

  ‘I know you only do class and sophistication, but nothing too over-the-top please,’ she had reportedly said to JoJo, when it was first mooted. ‘I don’t want to look like a toilet roll holder or a fairy on top of a Christmas tree.’ Wendy had also said she wanted to look like ‘herself’ on her wedding day and that she would do her own hair and make-up as ‘nobody wants a one-off orange fright with ringlets for the day’. But, the dress had to be white; that was a given. Frederick’s family were very conservative and very, very traditional; it was a huge white wedding and it was going to be very, very posh.

  It was a shame Wendy couldn’t have what she really wanted, thought Rose – a good splash of colour, some zany touches, a more lightened-up, casual approach to the day, but on this momentous occasion she knew Wendy was willing to toe a more conservative line for the man she loved.

  ‘Coming along swimmingly,’ JoJo said, placing her BlackBerry back on the table and ignoring them all looking at it as though it were kryptonite. ‘Just a few areas of hand-stitched panelling to finish off then all done. Are you still going to let me add the beading? It’ll be subtle, I promise, and slightly vintage. It’ll really make the dress.’

  ‘Yes, I trust you,’ said Wendy. ‘Whatever you think. Go for it.’

  JoJo was an incredible seamstress. She’d studied law at university, something her parents had pushed her into, but her first love was sewing, and after having Constance (a baby Rose had been highly jealous to discover slept all the time – her girls had all been nightmares) she took it up again. She made baby clothes, at first, then the most beautiful christening dresses – as her skills and confidence grew – then, with her friends’ excited encouragement, wedding dresses. They would never forget the first one she made: it was a silky, hand-embroidered slip dress she’d sold to a gushingly grateful bride in North Wales and it had been absolutely stunning.

  ‘You’re going to look wonderful, Wendy,’ said Rose. ‘I can’t wait to see you in it.’

  ‘Thank you, Rose,’ said Wendy. ‘And is it still next Wednesday, JoJo, for the final fitting?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said JoJo. ‘I’ll have the champagne waiting.’

  ‘Booze,’ said Sal, nodding emphatically. ‘We need more of it now. There’s a bar on this train, right?’ She picked up the veil from the table and stuck it on her head, before standing up. ‘I’m off to track it down.’

  Sal ambled up the swaying carriage towards the front of the train, the veil fluttering in the breeze from the open windows. Rose looked out of hers. They were in real patchwork-quilt country now and there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a really beautiful evening.

  Sal came back with two half-bottles of red wine and some plastic cups. ‘It was all they had,’ she said. ‘Chateau de Plonk, and I got mistaken for the bride, which was quite hilarious. Told some old bloke I was getting married in the south of France and honeymooning on safari in South Africa.’

  They all laughed. Sal was a hoot. Rose wondered what this chef of hers was like. She hadn’t even told them his name. Still, if it was a one-night stand, never to be repeated, what did it matter?

  ‘Hey, what’s your chef’s name?’ she asked.

  ‘Niall,’ said Sal, ‘and I’m not blushing.’ She handed round the cups. ‘I’m just a bit pissed.’

  ‘Ooh,’ they all chorused, ‘Niall,’ and Sal had to shush them and whack them all in turn with her veil until they shut up.

  By the time they arrived at Chippenham Station they were more than a little bit drunk and very giddy and excited. They’d corralled the poor conductor as he’d made his way back up the carriage and regaled him with how Wendy was getting married and could he make an announcement about it over the tannoy. He’d refused, but wished Wendy lots of luck and chatted to them for a while about Norfolk, where the wedding was being held. He knew it very well, he said. He was from Thetford and knew Sumberley Hall where Wendy was getting married, as well as the Donnington-Blacks, Frederick’s family – he’d described them as almost like Norfolk royalty and Wendy had looked slightly scared. They’d also got chatting to the people on the table the other side of the aisle to them – four quite hilarious ladies off for a hillwalking weekend, who shared stories of being lost on the moors and eating cheese and pickle sandwiches on the sides of mountains, surrounded by hungry goats.

  They’d got off the train, waving merrily goodbye to their new friends as it pulled away from the platform to continue its journey to Bristol Temple Meads, then crossed the footbridge over to the station building. Rose, now wearing the veil, tripped up one of the steps; Wendy, in the L-plates, hooted with laughter, startling a passing mother and toddler, who started to cry in his pushchair. JoJo had to apologise to them both while Sal picked up the pair of deely boppers that had got dropped in front of one of the wheels, squashing a penis. Spirits were so high by the time they reached their waiting taxi (JoJo, thinking of everything, had pre-booked one) that the driver looked reluctant to take them.

  ‘Had a bit to drink, have we?’ he commented drily as he manoeuvred out of the car park.

  ‘Yes, and it’s fabulous!’ replied Rose.

  It really was. Reunited with her oldest and bestest friends for a whole three nights away, home and Jason and the girls seemed a million miles away and, at this moment in time, that was fine by her. She was ready to let her hair down, swing it around a bit and then have it wrapped in a big white towel while she had her toenails buffed.

  They drove for half an hour, firstly through the town and then largely in the middle of nowhere. They were on an endless country road, which became single track, and, travelling under a thick canopy of over-lapping trees, it felt like they were in a tunnel. A thick, medieval brick wall flanked them on the left; Rose’s eyes travelled along with it, as it ebbed up and down in her vision. Suddenly, the wall stopped at two huge, wide-open wrought iron gates. A black slate sign, welcoming them with the swirly, engraved words, ‘The Retreat Salon and Spa’ protruded from lush, green grass. And then they were bumping up a long, sweeping, tree-lined gravel drive towards a huge Cotswold stone manor house.

  Wow. It was stunning. Its pale yellow Georgian frontage, flanked by two impressive wings either side, gleamed in the evening sunshine; its walls dripped with tumbling, late-flowering, pale lilac wisteria. Spread before it was a gorgeous arrangement of ponds and fountains, circled by multicoloured blooms. It was posh, but with a romantic, faded-looking country glamour. It was majestic, but welcoming. Rose couldn’t wait to get inside.

  They got out of the taxi, marginally stunned, and just stood on the gravel, gawping up at The Retreat.

  ‘Oh, JoJo!’ said Wendy. She actually had tears in her eyes. ‘It’s breathtaking. If I haven’t already, I completely take it back about not wanting a hen weekend.’

  ‘Too right,’ said Sal, her jaw dropping. ‘It’s bloody gorgeous. Look at that flippin’ swimming pool!’ Over to the right of the house, on a diamond-shaped jigsaw of Cotswold slab set into the perfect, emerald lawn, was a huge, outdoor swimming pool surrounded by expensive-looking wooden sunloungers topped with yellow and white striped towels. Swanky white umbrellas fluttered in the breeze; stone steps at one end led down to turquoise, sparkli
ng water. And next to it was a pool house so big and glamorous it could be an estate all of its own.

  ‘The girl did good,’ said Rose, giving her friend a squeeze round the waist. ‘Well done, JoJo.’ JoJo looked all proud, as well she might, thought Rose. This place looked amazing, like something out of a film, and she knew they all couldn’t wait to sample the treats it promised. Glamour Pamper Package, here they came!

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said JoJo. ‘I wanted to book something really special for Wendy. She deserves it. And you all deserve it, too.’

  ‘And you, as well,’ said Wendy. ‘You deserve a break.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ admitted JoJo, not looking wholly convinced.

  ‘Turn off the BlackBerry for the duration,’ scolded Sal. ‘Brides will still adore and order your dresses, the shop will still be standing when you get back to London, and the world won’t stop turning because you don’t pick up a needle and thread or a bloody diamanté for the next two and a bit days.’

  JoJo laughed. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And I promise to try. Shall we get inside?’

  ‘Yes please,’ said Rose. They laughingly linked arms, like The Monkees, then realised that wouldn’t work as they all had their bags to bring in. Giggling, they picked up their luggage, crossed the gravel and made their way into reception.

  This was going to be the Best. Weekend. Ever.

  Chapter Five

  JoJo

  ‘What do you mean, I haven’t booked the Glamour Pamper Package?’

  They were standing in reception, welcome mocktails of elderflower, red berry and sparkling water in their hands, and leaning against a huge marble desk behind which a prim young woman, her hair in Heidi braids, frowned at a computer screen.

  ‘That’s what it says here,’ the woman said, looking up, and speaking in a soft Wiltshire lilt. JoJo noticed the name on her badge actually was Heidi. ‘It says you’re booked under the Health and Rejuvenation Package. The Brown party, right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m JoJo Brown,’ said JoJo, ‘but no, no, that can’t be right. I definitely booked the Glamour Pamper Package.’ She smoothed her hair with her left hand and tried to dampen down her rising panic. She had, hadn’t she? Booked the Glamour Pamper Package. She remembered doing it. That lunchtime, in between taking calls. She’d ticked the right box, she’d gone through the payment system, she’d received the confirmation email . . .

  ‘Do you have your confirmation email?’ asked Heidi.

  JoJo scrambled in her bag for her BlackBerry. She’d never actually looked at the confirmation email – she hadn’t had time – but it would be on her BlackBerry and this would all be cleared up in a jiffy. It was just a simple misunderstanding, that was all. She brought up her emails, typed The Retreat in the search box and scanned down the email that popped up . . . to the bit that said, ‘Thank you for booking the Health and Rejuvenation Package . . .’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said, blushing. Oh no! ‘It appears you’re right. I seem to have booked the wrong package. I’m so sorry, everyone. I don’t know what to say.’ Damn it! Damn and blast it! How could this have happened? She knew she’d been busy that lunchtime, but how difficult was it to tick the right box? Even an idiot could tick the right box! She’d ticked the wrong box, hadn’t she? ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

  She quickly looked round the faces of her friends. They were hard to read – they all still looked relatively happy. They didn’t look angry; Wendy wasn’t sobbing into her mocktail or anything, but perhaps the news hadn’t really sunk in, perhaps the alcohol still cavorting round their bodies from the journey was softening the blow.

  ‘Is it that much different?’ enquired Sal. ‘This other package? This Health and Wotsit? It’s probably just a little less glamorous and a bit more healthy, isn’t it? Could it be we’re massaged with lemon oil rather than cocoa butter, and receive organic seaweed wraps rather than ones laced with double cream and glitter?’ She chuckled at her own wit. ‘Surely they’re all much of a muchness. It’s all relaxing, pampering, whatever, right? It’s all good?’

  ‘They must be pretty similar,’ agreed Rose, nodding. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

  ‘Actually, the packages are quite different,’ said Heidi, looking like she was just a little too happy to be the bearer of bad news, JoJo thought.

  JoJo suddenly remembered. She’d seen the blurb about the Health and Rejuvenation Package, of course she had. And it was exactly why she’d rejected it for the Glamour Pamper Package. Well, wouldn’t anyone?

  Heidi seemed to relish what she was about to say. She also recited it like a very pleased robot reading from a well-practised script.

  ‘The Health and Rejuvenation Package is a carefully structured two-day physical and mental rejuvenation plan designed to revive body and soul.’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Sal.

  Heidi ignored her and continued. ‘The package will stimulate mental and physical well-being in a co-ordinated and streamlined series of activities.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sal, beginning to look mildly irritated. Rose and Wendy were now gawping at each other, wide-eyed. ‘OK. But what do we actually do? What are the activities?’

  ‘I can tell you,’ said JoJo slowly. She felt quite sick. ‘I read it all. I’m not sure in what order these come, but these are the activities I read about. We have to do an assault course—’

  ‘Physical Stamina Optimiser Challenge,’ interjected Heidi.

  Sal, Rose and Wendy groaned in horror. Sal gripped the desk theatrically, as though she might faint.

  ‘Meditation—’ continued JoJo.

  ‘Mind Gymnastics, we like to call it,’ said Heidi smugly. ‘It’s new.’

  ‘Hot Yoga—’ said JoJo.

  ‘Oh, that’s fabulous,’ said Heidi. ‘Burns off sooooo many calories.’

  ‘And rafting.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it rafting,’ protested Heidi, quite huffily. ‘It’s actually High Concept Lake Traversing.’

  ‘It’s rafting,’ said JoJo flatly. By this time Sal was barely standing and the others were clasping hands and staring shell-shocked at each other. JoJo felt awful. How could she have done this? How could she have made such a monumental cock-up? ‘And I can’t remember any of the other details. I’m so sorry, everyone. Is there no way we can swap to the other package?’

  She looked hopefully at Heidi. They all did. How could this be happening? They were supposed to be spending the next two days padding round in fluffy white dressing gowns while their nails dried, not sitting on a bloody raft!

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Heidi cheerfully. ‘All packages are fully booked this weekend. There’s absolutely no room for manoeuvre.’ She smiled genially and tapped a well-manicured hand on the desk. She’s getting impatient with us, thought JoJo. She wants us checked in and moved along.

  ‘What about the party?’ asked Wendy quietly. ‘The party at the lake house? On Sunday night.’

  JoJo felt sick again. The party! The party had been the element of the weekend Wendy had been looking forward to the most. It sounded amazing. They’d talked about it on the train, had discussed their outfits and had reminisced about parties they’d been to in years gone by. They hadn’t gone to a party together for centuries.

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t be attending the party,’ said Heidi. ‘Wrong package.’

  They all looked so disappointed and JoJo couldn’t have felt more terrible. She never took her eye off the ball – never! And doing so had cost them a weekend of glamorous pampering and a party in a lake house . . . and had gained them physical torture including an assault course and a hideous rowing exercise, plus a miserable and bizarre-sounding afternoon putting their minds in the gym.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Wendy said, after rather a long pause, and gently placed a hand on JoJo’s arm. ‘It’s all absolutely fine. Look where we are!’ She swept her arm round the luxurious, gardenia-scented lobby they were standing in, with its marble and its pillars, its enormo
us fireplace and its gleaming, polished floor. Through the double doors to outside they could spy the fountain and the flowers and the cute little stone path to that luxurious swimming pool. ‘So we miss a party, so what? It doesn’t matter. And, as for the activities we have to do, surely nothing too bad can happen here, at this gorgeous place! All we have to do is a little physical exercise and sail on a raft for an hour or two! It’s fine. It might even be fun! Don’t be sorry, JoJo – I’m sure it’s going to be absolutely brilliant.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose hopefully. ‘It’ll be fine. There will be other parties . . . in life. Occasionally. And we know how to make the best of things, don’t we? Remember when we turned up for that Pyjama and Pomagne night at the Students’ Union but we’d got the date wrong and it was actually a heavy metal concert? We just mucked in. We got in that mosh pit and headbanged with the best of them. Robert Plant positively appreciated our nighties and our Mr Blobby slippers! And lots of other people have obviously gone for this package, if it’s fully booked – it must be really good.’

  ‘Unless they’re masochists,’ said Sal. ‘I’m kidding,’ she added. ‘Honestly. JoJo – so you ticked the wrong box, so what? We’ve all done that once in a while – I know I have.’ She winked; they all knew what she meant. ‘Let’s go with it and have a laugh. It’ll be fine.’

  JoJo was thankful for their efforts at unconcerned cheerfulness, but she still felt gutted and really rather embarrassed. She never ticked the wrong box. She never slipped up.

  ‘OK,’ she muttered. ‘We’ll go with it.’

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ said Sal, ‘come on, group hug!’ She flung open her arms and they all nestled into each other laughing and grinning. Well, JoJo was giggling slightly and raising a small smile – it would take her a while to get over making such a colossal mistake.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said a voice behind them. ‘I just need to get to the desk.’